


Wizard's Roulette

by orphan_account



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Assassins, Beauxbatons!Draco, M/M, i just tagged it because the intent is romantic, you can read this as platonic btw
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-13
Updated: 2017-03-13
Packaged: 2018-10-03 19:36:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,067
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10256096
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Draco is sure he can do it, if it means saving his family, but there's one thing he let himself forget in the midst of things: Nobody can cast an Unforgiveable if they don't really mean it.





	

**Author's Note:**

> this fic was supposed to be posted months ago (over two, now), but life got ahead of me and i never had time to wrap it up. anyway, this is the first out of 37 AUs i will be posting over the course of this year, as part of a project i've dubbed the "au a week." instead of the full 52 weeks, i've taken off three months' worth of time off of the year plan due to camp nano/nanowrimo, which i plan to participate in. i have ever single fic planned out, so if you're interested, please check [here](http://pansmione.tumblr.com/auaweek)! obviously the post dates are officially incorrect, as i'm behind on posting (and behind on writing), but if all goes well, all these fics will be 100% completed by the time 2017 comes to a close.
> 
> now, here's this one! it was the most difficult one i have planned, so i'm glad to get it out of the way. i initially started writing it around this time last year, but couldn't get the plot running. i took the idea and reworked it into something i personally like more than what it was, so i hope you'll enjoy it, too! if you've noticed, i haven't been especially active in the harry potter fandom lately, but i'm hoping to get back into it. i love writing these characters, and i love the community. that said, i hope the community will like this! please leave a comment or kudos if you do. c:

Lucius Malfoy probably would’ve given anything to save his family. His status, his wealth, his pride. After the first war, Lucius made a promise to Narcissa that he wouldn’t get involved in anything like it again.

As soon as Voldemort rose again, he broke his promise.

It’s the beginning of the end for him.

Draco, a Beauxbatons student of six years, stands at the end of Lucius’s ever-reaching shadow.

If he had a choice, he would not be here, but at some point it stopped being about choices. What choice did he ever have?

Kill Potter, or let his parents die.

Kill Potter, or let his parents die.

Kill Potter, or let his parents die.

Draco is the top of his year. He’s a _good_ wizard, both in theory and in practice.

But he could never beat Voldemort.

Lucius Malfoy probably would’ve given anything to save his family. But when it comes down to it, his power is just as flimsy as the rest of theirs. Draco used to see his father as a role model, and now the last time he saw him, the man was locked in the basement of his own home, on the road to starvation and begging for Draco to do something, do anything, so that they all can live through this.

Draco does not know what he can possibly do.

The intelligence gathered by Voldemort’s forces says that Potter is not attending school this year, which both simplifies Draco’s mission and makes it hundreds of times more difficult. Nobody knows _where_ he is, exactly, but Voldemort seems certain of one thing, and that is that Potter will eventually return to Godric’s Hollow.

But Draco can only wait for so long. The more time that passes, the worse his parents’ current conditions grow.

He has never felt fear like this before. It eats at him, gnaws at his heart like some vile beast. The time that remains is like a frayed cord. He doesn’t know when it will snap, but it only seems to grow more and more tense.

By the time December comes, Draco has resigned himself to the fact that he will not be able to do it.

Nobody knows where Potter is. What Potter is doing. Who Potter is with. Nobody knows anything. It seems to madden Voldemort, but Voldemort cannot possibly be more paranoid about it than Draco.

December used to be Draco’s favourite month. There’s just something about it, about the holidays, that always felt warmer than winter’s cold hands should be able to handle. He always got to come home in December. He always got to see his parents.

He has seen his parents many times already this month, but it is no longer warm. There is no warmth in this winter. Lucius and Narcissa stand above a steep cliff, and if Draco makes one wrong move, he will be the one to push them over.

On the fifteenth day of December, Bellatrix accompanies him to Lucius’s study, where Voldemort stands, fingering the spines of different books on the bookshelf pushed against the leftmost wall.

Bellatrix leaves him there, and closes the door behind her.

“You have done nothing,” Voldemort says, and it is not a question or an accusation. It is simply a statement.

“No, my lord,” Draco says meekly, bowing his head.

“You are much like your father,” Voldemort reflects. “Useless, in every sense. Except for one…” He pulls a book from the bookshelf. It’s flimsy-looking, black, with a blank cover. Draco cannot tell completely from where he is standing, but it looks to be bound in leather.

“What might that be, my lord?” Draco asks, trying not to make it obvious that he was looking at the book.

“Lucius has had this in his possession for a very long time,” Voldemort murmurs. “But it will be useful to you in your hunt.” He steps closer, until he is directly in front of Draco. The tip of his wand presses against Draco’s jugular. Draco holds his breath as Voldemort leans down so that his breaths tickle at Draco’s ear. “But understand, Draco, that I can only entrust this to you if you are able to keep it completely safe. If you were to let it fall into Potter’s hands, and allow him to destroy it, I would have you slaughtered right alongside your parents.”

Draco’s heartbeat is all he can hear. “Y-Yes, my lord,” he says tightly, and Voldemort pulls away.

Draco lets out a long, shaky breath, and Voldemort laughs shortly, as if in satisfaction.

“I’m glad you know your place,” Voldemort says, and though he sings it as though it is praise, the words make Draco’s stomach twist.

Voldemort hands him the book, and Draco takes it warily.

“I had other plans for that,” Voldemort tells him, “but it will be enough to lure Potter to you. He will likely do anything to get his hands on it.”

Draco shudders. He grew up with stories of Harry Potter, and while they are the same age, Draco has never met the boy. It is somehow bittersweet, that they will meet like this eventually. Draco always wanted to know just who Harry Potter was as a child, and now…

“You must succeed, Draco,” Voldemort says. “Think of everything that rides on your success in this mission.”

He sweeps past Draco and out the door. When it clicks closed behind him, Draco finally lets himself breathe.

He opens the cover of the book, and in faded lettering on the first page are the words _T.M. Riddle_.

~*~*~*~

By the time Christmas comes, Voldemort explains to him that he missed his chance with Godric’s Hollow.

“He will eventually need to return to Hogwarts,” Voldemort says, “but I sincerely doubt he realizes…”

Which doesn’t matter, because it still puts Draco exactly where he was.

However, because of his failure, Voldemort leads him down to the basement of Malfoy Manor, and promptly tortures both of his parents right before him.

Draco will likely not forget what that sounded like.

“Do not forget,” Voldemort whispers in his ear as he turns to go back up, “what price you have to pay for your shortcomings.”

Once Voldemort has ascended the stairs once more, Draco lowers himself to the ground, watching his parents absently as they try to gather themselves.

But it is getting harder. They are both so thin, so pale, their eyes already devoid of life.

“I’m sorry,” he tells them, but neither can answer.

He stays there for a moment longer, then hoists himself up again. Potter wants _something_ , but Voldemort won’t explain, won’t tell Draco anything about it. A lord who doesn’t trust his followers. It would be funny, if it wasn’t quite so painful.

“I promise I’ll save you,” he says, but his voice is scratchy and quiet and it is such an empty promise it _hurts_.

He turns away from them before they can raise their heads and see the tears that burn in his eyes.

~*~*~*~

The book that Voldemort gave to him—now recognizable as a diary, though it is blank—remains a mystery for the next month. He knows Potter wants it, but he does not know why. It seems to exude dark magic, but perhaps it is simply Draco’s imagination. After all, the item was given to him by the Dark Lord. Whether or not it’s a dark artifact doesn’t matter, because it’s still going to feel like one anyway.

He doesn’t care anymore, though.

He doesn’t care about much, if he’s being honest.

Kill Potter, or let his parents die.

Kill Potter, or let his parents die.

Kill Potter, or let his parents die.

If he thinks about where his life is, this is not right. It is, in fact, so tremendously _wrong_ that it is nearly suffocating. He was on the path to making a name for himself. In France, the name Malfoy still held some weight, but it was significantly less. Nobody cared who he was, as long as he could do his work and he could do it right.

Now, it’s like his name—the crushing burden of his family—is slowly killing him.

He leaves the diary in his own room for now, but he can never bring himself to so much as touch it. Whatever strange power it holds, the power that, presumably, Potter desperately needs, Draco wants nothing to do with it. He tries to think of any way he could take his parents and run, but they are weakened by the months of little food and continual torture. If they even managed to leave the property, Draco would not be able to keep them alive.

He no longer has any options.

On the first day of February, Bellatrix asks him if he has any idea what he’s doing. He tells her the truth, and she laughs at him.

“Poor Draco,” she croons. “But don’t worry. I can let you in on a little secret.”

Draco doesn’t know if she’s trustworthy. She’s mad, he knows, but then again…

“What would that be, Aunt Bella?” he asks, trying to remain as collected as possible.

She clearly sees through it, though, because she laughs. “I understand your desperation, but you understand why this is happening, don’t you? Your parents weren’t loyal enough. It’s their own fault things are like this.”

Draco stares at her blankly, even as his stomach churns with something that feels like anger but decidedly isn’t. “I’m aware, yes,” he says meekly.

“Of course you are.” She sings her not-quite-praises, too. Draco can only assume she has spent far too long in Voldemort’s company. “It’s why you’re my favourite nephew.” She laughs again. It is such a nasty, grating sound that Draco can barely manage to keep a straight face as he watches her.

“I’m your only nephew,” he reminds her.

She waves a dismissive hand. “It doesn’t matter. Anyway, I just thought you should know that the Dark Lord has plans to capture. There have been a few sightings, it seems… But he says there is something else. We’re heading out to the area tomorrow. I only say this because I care about you, understand…”

Draco’s throat feels very dry. “Why haven’t I been told already?”

Bellatrix’s eyes are sympathetic, but they still hold some kind of unruly mirth. “Because he never planned to let your parents live, anyway, you know. They’re untrustworthy, don’t you think?”

Draco tenses. “Sorry?”

Bellatrix puts a hand on his shoulder and gives him half a smile. “There’s no room for people who don’t do anything useful. However, I believe he can be swayed, if only you can kill Potter. Perhaps he’ll allow you to leave the country again. At the very least, you will be allowed to live.”

Draco’s skin feels burns under her touch, but her hand is very cold.

“That’s a good thing, Draco,” she presses. “You can still continue the Malfoy line! And it will only grow to be more honourable, with you at its head.”

“I want to save my parents,” he says.

“Your parents are too far gone to be saved, now.”

It is the truth, he thinks. It is, because Bellatrix, crazy as she may be, has surely never told such an intricate lie. She knows Voldemort far better than he does. Knows what drives him. Knows his movements.

“Is there no other way?”

She steps back. “I see no reason for you to be distrustful of the Dark Lord,” she says. “Your parents did the wrong thing. They should receive adequate punishment for it. I love Narcissa, too, dearly, but I believe in the Dark Lord’s cause, beyond all else.”

Draco’s hands tremble at his sides.

“Or perhaps you’re too scared?” she teases. “I always did think your father was a coward. It’s a shame to see it in you, too.”

“I—I’m not,” Draco says. “I just don’t understand.”

“Your mum always said you were so smart,” Bellatrix says. “Funny, isn’t it? Well, let me explain again. I can help you. All you need to do is follow me, and you can kill Potter yourself.”

“How do I know you’re telling me the truth?”

She laughs. “You don’t. But I’m not so sure you have much choice anymore, little dragon. I’m sure I’ll see you tomorrow. We’ll have to see just how good of an assassin you are.”

Before Draco can even fully register her words, she’s turned around and let herself out of his room.

Bellatrix, crazy as she may be, has surely never told such an intricate lie.

But Draco knows one thing about Bellatrix, and that is she would do anything if Voldemort asked her to. If Voldemort asked her to lie, Bellatrix would not hesitate.

His head hurts with just the thought.

Whether he wants to admit it or not, Bellatrix is right. He cannot do anything else at this point. As things are, he’s letting parents’ lives slip between his fingers like sand in an hourglass. No matter what he does, their survival only seems to fall further and further away.

He clenches and unclenches his fist, takes a deep breath. There is only one way he can go, and that is forward.

~*~*~*~

Bellatrix’s “secret” comes to light all too quickly.

And each revelation is my horrifying than the last.

Draco finds Bellatrix in the morning, and she chats idly with him over some breakfast. This is abnormal in itself, but what is more abnormal is the fact that she isn’t _going_ anywhere.

Draco tries to leave, to return to where he was last scouting for Potter, but she stops him every time. Finally, around one in the afternoon, the wards around Malfoy Manor start to go off.

Bellatrix shoots up, grinning. “Draco!” she calls. “I told you your time was coming, didn’t I? Let’s go!”

Draco stares after her, eyes wide and heart beating fast, and he somehow manages to connect the dots.

It wasn’t a lie, but it wasn’t exactly a truth, either.

Potter is _here_. Coming here, for something. For something… But for what?

Bellatrix is far gone by now, but Draco slowly rises from his seat. _He will likely do anything to get his hands on it_. The diary… Voldemort’s diary. If it contains some kind of secret, then Potter needs it to win the war. Draco has it in his possession. Even if Potter gets through all the Death Eaters around the Manor…

But no, he won’t. Potter is strong, surely, but every single person there is out to kill him.

If anybody else kills Potter, there is no chance for Draco.

He races to his room, retrieves the diary from his bedside table and pulls his wand out.

As he exits the building, he is greeted with nothing.

There is nothing.

The wards are quiet. The grounds are empty.

The only noise is a whistling wind and Draco’s own laboured breathing.

And then there is a brushing noise from behind him, and he whirls around, wand readied, only to come face-to-face with somebody else’s wand. Behind the weapon is a somewhat short, bushy-haired girl.

“Who are you?” she demands.

Draco splutters.

“Hermione!” someone calls from behind the girl. “There’s trouble! We have to go, now!”

The girl eyes Draco suspiciously. “Are you one of them?”

“One of _who_?”

“Hermione!”

The girl still doesn’t budge. “Just tell me your name,” she snaps. “Tell me your name, or I’ll stun you!”

Draco panics.

“ _Stupify_!” he shouts, right after the girl cries, “ _Expelliarmus_!” and his wand goes flying from his hand.

“Hermione! Where’s the Portkey?”

The girl looks back, now. “What’s wrong?”

“He’s here!” the newcomer gasps. “We have to go, now. We’ll come back for it another time!”

She nods sharply, then turns back to Draco.

She opens her mouth as if she is about to say something, but before she can, Draco blurts out, “Take me with you.”

“Huh?”

“Take me with you! I’ve been living here, I can tell you anything you want.” As he speaks, a more solid plan formulates in his head. Go with these people, get his wand back, lure Potter in… It’s seamless. This girl is young, probably no older than Draco himself, and she doesn’t seem poised to kill him.

She frowns. “I—”

“We have to go,” the other person urges, and she shakes her head.

“Fine, but we can’t just take you like this,” she says. “Please don’t argue. _Petrificus totalus_!”

Draco’s heart races. He knows it’s risky. He knows they will likely find the diary, will know more about it than he does, but…

But he doesn’t have much for chances left anymore.

He doesn’t argue.

The girl and her friend hoist him up together, and she holds a Portkey in front of them. He is aware of it all, but he cannot move, cannot reach out for it. As the girl positions them so they are all touching the object—Draco thinks it is a key of some sort—and the last thing Draco sees before they are taken away from the scene is Voldemort approaching from the other side of the girl.

~*~*~*~

The place they arrive is a wooded area. The sky above is grey, looking about ready to shed its tears to the world.

They are very far from Malfoy Manor.

Upon their arrival, the girl took the body bind off him and instead tied his hands together with some Conjured rope.

The other person, a red-headed boy, watches him thoughtfully as the girl paces.

“We aren’t exactly in the business for taking war hostages, you know,” she finally says, halting and whirling to face him. Her voice is sharp across the quiet hum of the forest. “We have morals.”

“I’m not a hostage if it was willing,” Draco says flatly. “I asked you to take me.”

“That’s what concerns me,” she mutters. “You’re one of them, aren’t you?”

“One of them? A Death Eater?” Draco scoffs. “Sure, but some of us aren’t privileged enough to fight back against the system.”

She glares at him. “ _Privileged_? That’s a pretty heavy word to be throwing out to someone that people like you are actively trying to kill for something that can’t be controlled.”

Oh. Draco lowers his gaze. She must be muggle-born, he thinks. That will only make things more difficult for him.

...But then again, maybe it won’t.

“I don’t want to kill you,” he says. “You seem like a formidable opponent. I fail to see how you’re any less magical than I am.”

If there was one thing he learned in his time away from home, it’s that people are, simply, people. Regardless of blood status. Still, it leaves an odd taste in his mouth to say it like that. Prejudices aren’t so easily moved, but it’s not a lie by any stretch. She certainly could beat him in a battle of magic. Especially in this position, wherein she still holds his wands and he is currently outnumbered two-to-one.

“That’s very Slytherin of you,” she says. “But it’s not working.”

“You can watch me,” Draco offers. “Never let me out of your sight. I don’t care. I just feel I have less chance of getting killed around here.”

She frowns. “What kind of information do you know, exactly?”

Draco’s stomach churns. “I know the primary movements of the Death Eaters,” he says. “Er, most of them time I can find out where the Dark Lord is, and if not, then that’s something _nobody_ knows. I…”

“You sound more like you want to be some kind of double-agent,” the boy speaks up. “Which, Hermione, we don’t have one anymore. It might not be—”

“It might not be what?” she snaps. “A bad idea to let a Death Eater into our organization, when we have no reason to trust him?”

Draco pauses, then says, “Wait, I might have something. Just—just give me one second. And undo my hands, for just a moment, please.”

She stares at him a moment, then waves her wand and Banishes the rope completely. He makes to grab the diary from the pockets of his robe, hands fumbling, pulse racing.

_If you were to let it fall into Potter’s hands, and allow him to destroy it, I would have you slaughtered right alongside your parents._

He halts.

“What’s the problem?” the girl says impatiently. “Do you have something or not?”

“I do!” Draco gives the area a quick once-over. “I would give it to you, but if something happened to it, I’d be making myself a target of the Dark Lord, and—and you said yourself, you need a double-agent, right? If I give this to you now, then I’ll lose his trust before I’ve even gained yours.”

The girl shares a look with her companion, who nods shortly.

“Well, can we have it, at least? We won’t let anything happen yet. There are other people we’d need to consult first, after all.”

Draco lets out a heavy breath. “Y-Yeah, here…” He pulls out the diary and hands it to her.

Her eyes widen somewhat. “This isn’t any of the ones Dumbledore guessed,” she says, looking at the redheaded boy. “You don’t think there are more than we know?”

He shrugs. “He said he wanted seven of them. I doubt there are any more than that.”

Draco watches the exchange as stoically as he can. As he guessed, they seem to be far more knowledgeable than he is on what the diary is, exactly. But if he wants their trust, he’ll have to act as if he knows what it is…

Which won’t be easy, but shouldn’t be impossible.

“He gave it to me for safekeeping, as one of his most trustworthy followers,” Draco lies.

“I see.” The girl looks up at him. “So why don’t we know who you are?”

Draco shifts slightly. “I doubt you know the names of every Death Eater,” he says dismissively. “I’m just one with the masses, aren’t I?”

“You just said you’re one of You-Know-Who’s most trustworthy followers,” the boy points out. “I wouldn’t say you’re like the rest of his followers, myself.”

“R-Right.” Draco blinks, silently cursing himself. “It doesn’t matter who I am. I’m still giving you something you need, right?”

“Right,” the girl echoes. “I suppose we can take you back with us, but we’ll need to constrain you and blindfold you, and I’ll still have your wand.”

Draco nods. “I understand.”

He stays still as she ties his hands again and as she puts something—Draco doesn’t even want to guess at what—over his eyes so that he he can only see black. She goes to his left side, while her friend flanks his right, and they push him in an unknown direction.

He doesn’t know how long they walk. He doesn’t even try to guess at it.

The longer they walk, the more he thinks this could actually work. It would be impossible to know who he was truly working with. He could be the perfect double-agent, neither Potter’s puppet nor Voldemort’s. If he plays it exactly right, he could make it out of the war and keep his parents alive long enough to find a way to get them out of it, too.

When they reach their destination, the girl takes whatever’s covering his eyes away, and he slowly blinks, registering that wherever they are is very dimly lit.

“Welcome to the headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix,” she says briskly. “We’ll be taking you further than this, but for now, we’re going to have someone come out here, and we’re going to verify you, whether you want it or not.”

He does not want to be verified.

But he’s hardly in a position to argue.

The girl gives him a curt nod, then scurries away.

They’re in a building, but it gives the feeling that it has been empty for a long time. Draco supposes it’s supposed to, but even this wouldn’t drive away Death Eaters on a trail. They likely have wards of some kind. There’s no Fidelius Charm, or someone would’ve had to tell him where it was, and, frankly, he still has no idea.

Clearly, they’re just discreet in their operations. But discreet probably won’t stop the inevitable fallout when a Death Eater traces them back to the area.

“He says he’s a Death Eater,” the girl’s voice says, returning from the other side of the hallway. “But he doesn’t look any older than us.”

“Age doesn’t matter much,” says someone else lightly. “Just look at yourself, Hermione. Seventeen years old and a war hero.”

Three people approach, and stop in front of Draco. Draco recognizes neither of the two newcomers, but he supposes it wouldn’t make much sense if he did. They are obviously English, he thinks.

The one in the middle frowns at him, but doesn’t say anything.

The one beside him asks, “Do you know him, Arthur?”

The middle one—Arthur, presumably—says, “Well… doesn’t he look a bit like someone we both know?” He tilts his head slightly. “Maybe it’s a mistake, but…”

“He sort of looks like Malfoy?” the other guesses.

“I know I’m hardly one to talk, but the _hair_.”

The other man laughs. “Blonde hair isn’t uncommon, though. Regardless, I thought Malfoy’s son was in France.”

Draco barely contains a shudder. It’s almost frightening how well these people know him, even though he has certainly never met either of them. At Beauxbatons, nobody knew about him, and nobody cared enough to ask. He lived a decidedly humble life, and is certainly far better for it.

“Well, Remus, what do you think? Should we hear him out?”

“We still don’t know who he really is,” the one called Remus points out. “It’s not impossible that he’s a Malfoy, considering their ties with You-Know-Who, but we shouldn’t rule out the possibility that he’s someone else entirely.”

Draco shifts on his feet and they both cast him sharp looks.

“Hermione says you seem trustworthy,” Remus says. “In the simplest sense, anyway. Let’s come into the main room and talk about this, perhaps over some tea? I feel there is a lot to be discussed…”

Draco glances uneasily at Hermione, then moves his gaze back to the two men in front of him and nods.

“Wonderful,” Remus says. “I’ll prepare us some tea, then.”

~*~*~*~

Remus prepares tea, sets it out, even, but nobody speaks for a very long time. Hermione offers Draco a cup, but he declines and simply watches the other four people in the room.

Finally, Arthur seems to notice how he’s looking, because he says, “We’re still waiting for one more person.”

Draco swallows back a bitter taste. If he thought he was outnumbered before, with just Hermione and the redheaded boy, he’s in much worse shape now.

He knows about the Order of the Phoenix, if only because Voldemort hates it. It’s Dumbledore’s organization, but it supposedly has a new head since Dumbledore’s death last year. The double-agent that the boy had mentioned before had been Snape. After Dumbledore’s death, he was killed by Voldemort immediately.

Draco had grown up having Snape around a lot. It was, to say the least, painful to find out he’d been murdered inside Draco’s own home.

Not as painful, he thinks, as it would be had it been his parents.

“Who?” he asks after a long moment.

Arthur and Remus share a short glance, but before either of them can speak, somebody behind Draco says, “Me, I reckon?”

The person steps around the table and sits across from Draco, between Arthur and Remus. He doesn’t look any older than Draco, with unruly black hair, emerald eyes, and a scar in the shape of a lightning bolt in the centre of his forehead.

“You,” Draco says dully.

“Me,” Potter agrees. “So, let’s get to it, then.”

Arthur coughs. “Er, right. But first, how did it go, Harry? Have you found anything else?”

Potter shakes his head. “We’ll talk about it later,” he says lowly.

Arthur nods. “Right, then.” He waves a hand in Draco’s direction. “Unidentified Death Eater. Ron and Hermione met him at Malfoy Manor. He gave them this.” He hands the diary to Potter. Draco makes a small movement, his body automatically trying to jump up to grab it again.

Potter eyes him curiously, but before he can ask any questions, Hermione says, “He said that You-Know-Who gave it to him to safekeep.”

Potter hums, inspecting the book. “It sort of feels like one, doesn’t it?”

Ron nods. “That’s what we thought too. And look inside, on the first page…”

Potter flips the front cover over and reads the faded inscription. “I see,” he says. He raises his eyes up to meet Draco’s. “So, if You-Know-Who trusts you enough to give this to you, why are you giving it to us?”

Draco’s head hurts.

“I’m just trying to do the right thing. I don’t know. Why would I willingly work with a madman?”

He’s grasping at anything he can, hoping Potter will buy it, but…

But Potter narrows his eyes.

“You have an accent,” he remarks. “It’s not that strong, though. What is that?”

Draco sits very still.

“Sounds French,” Ron says.

Arthur nods slightly. “I was thinking the same thing.”

“It doesn’t matter who I am,” Draco snaps. “Aren’t I doing enough already? What more can I possibly say or do to convince you I don’t want to be a Death Eater anymore?”

“Well,” Hermione says uncertainly, “you have a point…”

“Remus, do we have any Veritaserum?” Arthur asks.

Remus considers it, then nods. “I think so, but is that really ethical?”

“It is if he consents,” Hermione says. “If he doesn’t, then we reject him, right?”

“Well, put simply, sure.” Remus trains his gaze on Draco. “Do you consent or not?”

Draco pauses. He thinks about the possibilities. What sort of questions they might ask him. But… he hasn’t been inadequately trained. His entire summer was spent with Bellatrix learning Occlumency. Veritaserum isn’t impossible to bypass. It’s just difficult.

“Okay,” he says. “But make it quick, please.”

“Of course,” Remus says, standing and making his way into the next room. He returns in a few minutes with a vial and offers it out to Draco.

Draco eyes it, then opens it and takes a short drink from it.

They all wait a moment, then Arthur asks, “Firstly, what’s your name?”

If he says the wrong thing, he’ll probably die. So he let’s the answer slip between his lips, just as it wants to: “Draco Malfoy.”

Arthur nods. “Did You-Know-Who entrust this diary to you, and only to you?”

“Yes.”

“Are you here of your own accord?”

“Yes.”

“Do you have orders you are following that brought you to come here of your own accord?”

Draco pauses. “No,” he says after a moment, even as the potion argues inside him.

Arthur nods again. “Do you have malicious intent involving any person in this room?”

This answer comes far easier, for whatever reason: “No.”

“Are you genuine in your desire to assist the Order of the Phoenix in the war that it is currently a part of?”

“You haven’t given me a good reason to be.”

“That’s not an answer.”

Draco scowls. “Yes,” he says. “I am genuine.”

Arthur glances at Remus, who shakes his head.

“I have one more question for you…,” Remus says. “Are Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy currently working under You-Know-Who?”

“No,” Draco says, but the word makes him feel sick.

“I see,” Remus says quietly. “Then I think that’s enough.”

He glances at Arthur, who nods in quiet agreement.

“If you don’t mind,” Remus continues, “we’d like to keep you here for the time being. Just a few days, while we decide what best to do with you.”

“It’s not exactly a ‘if you don’t mind,’” Hermione says. “If you don’t mind, it’ll make things easier for us, but…”

“We’ll keep you here anyway,” Potter finishes. “But we can’t actually leave you on your lonesome or anything. One of us five will be with you always… If it’s not a problem to everyone else, I rather hope it can be me with you most of the time. But, again, it’s only for a few days…”

“I understand,” Draco says. “If _you_ don’t mind, I’d like to sleep this potion off. It somewhat addles the brain, you know.”

Potter watches him for a long moment, then nods. “Of course. There are bedrooms upstairs. We don’t care where you sleep.” He pauses. “Oh, and one more thing.” Potter holds the diary out to Draco, even as Hermione makes a faint noise of protest from the other side of Remus.

Draco narrows his eyes at it, but Potter catches his look and laughs.

“I don’t have a grand scheme or anything. There are more objects like this one that need to be dealt with. If it’s important that this one not be destroyed just yet, we won’t destroy it until last. I reckon You-Know-Who will trust you more if you’re holding onto it, right?”

Draco frowns, but takes it anyway.

“Well,” Potter says, standing up, “we’ll talk to you later. I have a good feeling we’ve all come to a similar conclusion here, anyway.”

As Draco stands and leaves the room, he can only hear his heartbeat between his ears and his parents’ limited time clicking closer and closer to _now_.

~*~*~*~

Draco sleeps for a few hours, but doesn’t immediately return when he wakes.

Instead, he thinks.

Thinks about the possibility of his parents still being alive. About if Voldemort will guess his intentions or automatically assume he has defected.

Mostly, he thinks about the best way to kill Potter.

Potter will be close to him over the next few days, but it might take more than that. Weeks, months, to get Potter to trust him, and then when his back is turned…

He has one shot, so to speak. If he tries to kill Potter and Potter’s expecting it, he’ll lose. He doesn’t look like much, sure, but he still took down the Dark Lord at one year and remains mostly unscathed.

But if he tries to kill Potter when Potter isn’t expecting it, there’s no way he should be able to fail. His success rate would be at least ninety-percent, and he might argue that wasn’t very high normally, but it’s the best he has. It might be _all_ he has. It’s entirely possible that Voldemort set him up to fail as it is.

But he won’t fail.

He _can’t_.

Maybe Bellatrix lied. Maybe she didn’t. Regardless, if Potter dies, the war will end. Voldemort can overpower everyone once Potter is gone. If Draco is the one who makes that possible…

Maybe he can take his parents to France when this is all over. The Black family is, after all, traditionally French, anyway. Narcissa would love it, he thinks. But, then, France is so close… Perhaps America. But who knows when Voldemort will extend his reach globally?

It’s frustrating, endlessly so. If he could just end this now, he would.

But he can’t.

He makes his way downstairs once he is certain there is no way the potion is still in his system enough to compel him to say anything he shouldn’t.

Potter, Hermione, and Ron are sitting in the room where they talked before again.

“We’ve come to a decision,” Hermione says.

Draco raises an eyebrow. “And what might that be?”

“The Order operates in squads,” she explains. “We have various safe houses across the country. Arthur and Remus are our senior members. Therefore, they have the biggest say in our plans. Our squad—that is, myself, Ron, Harry, Remus, and Arthur—are primarily inactive. We only go out on missions when it’s necessary to our goal as an order. Harry is our most important member, as I’m sure you know, so there’s really no reason to hide it.”

“We move safe houses by a weekly basis,” Potter says. “The Death Eaters are after me, before anyone else, but they’ll kill anyone they think will stand between You-Know-Who and I. We have a duty to protect our subordinates, in this case.”

“Subordinates,” Draco echoes.

Potter nods. “After Dumbledore’s death, the unanimous decision was that I should be the next to take his spot. If only because I knew the most about what he was doing. That last part is a secret,” he adds. “I can’t tell you what I know, but since you have the diary and seemed to understand its importance, you probably know a little bit. Prove yourself, and maybe we’ll tell you eventually.”

Draco nods faintly.

“Good,” Hermione says. “Moving on, our squads are between four and eight people, and as you can see, we already have five. However, since we are the least mobile of the entire Order, we’ll be taking you in. We’ll live in this house for two days, and then we’ll move. Which is where you’re going to be doing something decently helpful for us.”

“Our old double-agent was killed last year,” Ron continues. “Now that you’re here, you can replace him. And it seems like You-Know-Who trusts you. I can’t say it was ever that way before, to be honest. You have a much better chance at collecting information than he did, if you’re that close to You-Know-Who, but…”

“He’ll be suspicious because Snape already double-crossed him,” Draco finishes hollowly. “I know that.”

“Of course you do,” Ron says, and his voice is slightly high either in anger or embarrassment; which one it is, Draco can’t tell.

“When we move locations, you’re going to tell him where this safe house is,” Hermione says.

Draco starts. “Sorry?”

“If we’re going to be a team, that means we have to make sure you can do your job. Which is to gather intel. You can’t do that if he doesn’t trust you. We’ve talk about it between the five of us, and we think it’s the best course of action. Obviously, we’ll already be gone, but if we leave behind enough of a trace, he’ll feel like he’s getting something out of coming here, right?”

It could work.

Or it could totally fail.

_Ninety-percent_ , Draco thinks, and so he nods and says, “I’ll do whatever you tell me to.”

“Okay,” Hermione says, “then here’s what we’re going to do.”

~*~*~*~

In two days, they put their plan into action.

Draco just has to follow along for now. Once he sees Voldemort again, he can explain himself and his plan. He can only hope, now, that his parents are all right.

Draco Apparates to Wiltshire a few minutes after Remus, Arthur, Potter, Hermione, and Ron have gone. He’s been given his wand back, and he has the diary with him still. By the time he make it up the manor, his palms are sweaty and his head is beginning to ache with all the pointless thoughts it’s carrying.

As he enters the building, he wonders at whether or not Voldemort is really here, but before he can think on it too much, Bellatrix is hurrying towards him, scowling.

“What are you doing?” she screeches. “Letting yourself get taken by _them_? Unbelievable! Draco, surely you ought to have—”

“That’s quite enough,” says a high, cold voice behind her. “I wondered as well, but here he is, all in one piece.”

Draco holds his breath. “My Lord,” he murmurs, bowing deeply.

“Explain yourself,” Voldemort says, and he sounds a touch irritated.

“Of course, My Lord…” Draco straightens, and Bellatrix moves to the side, allowing for Voldemort to step forward. He is disturbingly close, but Draco cannot let himself be bothered by it, no matter what…

“I secured a position in Harry Potter’s squad in the Order of the Phoenix,” Draco says, trying and failing to keep his voice steady.

“Really,” Voldemort murmurs.

“My Lord, I apologize for not having mentioned it before… I saw a chance, and so I decided I would be best to take it as soon as I could. It had never seemed like an option before, but they didn’t even seem to know of my existence. I have information regarding their location.”

Voldemort’s lips twist, only further distorting his face. “And what reason would I have to trust a rogue like you?” he asks dangerously, leaning closer so that his breath pushes against Draco’s face.

Draco resists the urge to turn his head the other way and says, “If I dare say it, My Lord, there is a very good reason.”

Voldemort doesn’t say anything, but he doesn’t move, either.

“As long as my parents’ lives depend on your actions, I will do anything to appease you,” Draco says. “All I need to do is make Potter trust me, and then I can kill him cleanly. Just give me the time, My Lord. It will be done.”

Voldemort stands back and laughs. Laughs, as if he is genuinely amused, a if he has the capacity to feel such a human emotion.

Draco’s chest feels rather tight, suddenly.

“Of course I know that about you,” Voldemort says. “It’s why I wondered when you left… A fool so fixated on love is the puppet to anybody that can manipulate his loved ones. Isn’t that right, Draco?”

Draco feels his face twitch, and Voldemort laughs again.

“I’m glad we’re on the same page,” he says. “So why don’t you tell me where Potter and his friends’ last location was, and then we’ll discuss what you’ve done by running off like that.”

Draco’s heart lodges somewhere in his throat, but he reveals the information, anyway.

~*~*~*~

It quickly becomes a balancing act.

As February comes to an end, Draco slowly comes to find that he could fall at any time.

If he falls, he dies. His parents die. Everything he’s carefully built up will collapse on him entirely.

It’s overwhelming, to say the least, but at the same time, it’s like he’s numb to the realization. If he falls, that’s the end. But if it’s the end, he won’t remember anything. That’s one thing about death, at least: Once you die, your life fades immediately.

On the second day of March, Potter tells him about the time he spent at Hogwarts.

Draco didn’t ask, but he won’t deny that he’s interested. If things had been different, he and Potter would be classmates.

Out of fairness, Draco tells him about what it was like at Beauxbatons. And while his school adventures pale in comparison to Potter’s, they seem to intrigue him.

That evening, Potter explains that they will have to go back to Hogwarts eventually. That there are people there that need saving, students that are forced to bow down to Death Eaters that have overrun the school in Dumbledore’s absence.

“Everyone’s expecting me to kill You-Know-Who,” Potter says, and he is very solemn, so much so that he is almost sad, somehow. “Everyone’s expecting it, but just killing him won’t stop this war.”

“Won’t it?” Draco asks, because he really doesn’t know.

Potter laughs, but it is far from a happy sound. “‘Course not. It’s human nature to keep fighting for something, even when your leader falls. Look at us. Dumbledore’s dead, but we’re finding our way through this war without him.”

“But if You-Know-Who dies, all his subordinates will automatically be weaker,” Draco argues. “They all cower behind him, and he lets them. They’re all cowards!”

Potter frowns at him. “All of them?”

Draco huffs. “Of course. I could’ve left a long time ago. I _should’ve_. You don’t think that’s cowardly?”

“No,” Potter says matter-of-factly. “I think that’s what anybody would do.”

Draco blinks at him, surprised, and he smiles a little.

“I don’t think it matters, though. No matter if they’re cowards or not, they’re still going to have to fight. If they don’t, they’ll just get arrested or be forced into hiding. I’m sure neither is really favourable.”

Draco doesn’t look at Potter. If he was a different person, this would be so much easier.

But he loves his parents, and their lives hang on whatever Voldemort decides. So, really, the choice is easy, but…

Potter speaks like he truly believes Draco is on his side.

If he were a different person, in a different time, perhaps he would be.

~*~*~*~

On the fifteenth day of March, Voldemort gets annoyed with him.

Rightfully so, perhaps. While he has been waiting for Potter to trust him enough to turn his back for even a moment, Draco has allowed the Order of the Phoenix to continue in their operations with high success rates.

Out of irritation, Voldemort drags Draco down the basement and tortures his parents again.

It has been almost two months since the last time he saw them, and they are both slim, beyond the point of simple malnourishment. They are dying, right in front of him. If Voldemort had held the curse any longer, they would not have survived it.

“If Potter is not dead by the end of May,” Voldemort says as he turns to return back upstairs, “you and your parents will be instead.”

Lucius and Narcissa are both unconscious, now, but they are still alive. Their breaths are shallow but existent, pulses weak but not faded completely. They’ll be lucky if they live until May at this rate, Draco thinks.

“I don’t know what to do,” he whispers. “I’m sorry.”

When he leaves the dungeon, he half feels like he’s already abandoning them.

~*~*~*~

On the twenty-second day of March, Potter asks him about the diary.

And he _panics_.

“I—” He stops. Listens to his heartbeat. Opens his mouth again, but can find no words.

“I figured you didn’t know what it really was,” Potter says. “You-Know-Who isn’t exactly the type to trust people so blindly. It would’ve been impossible for us to know, too, if it weren’t for Dumbledore.”

Draco doesn’t speak.

Potter doesn’t seem to care. “There are other things like this. We can only kill Voldemort once they’ve all been destroyed.”

“You can’t,” Draco says quickly. “Not yet. Just—”

“I know.” Potter eyes him quizzically. “You don’t need to sound so desperate.”

Draco swallows. “I know. Sorry.” He turns his head slightly away from Potter.

“I’m only asking because we think we know where the next one is,” Potter says. “And we want you to help us get it.”

Draco glances back at him. “Where?”

Potter’s eyes are very dark, shadowed with grief and worry and something else entirely. “Hogwarts,” he says.

~*~*~*~

On the last day of March, they storm Hogwarts.

It’s terrifying.

Terrifying, because Voldemort has a hold on the school. Because it is overrun with Death Eaters that will, most likely, know who Draco is. Because, if it comes down to it, he may have to go as far as killing a member from one set of his comrades.

Of course he wants to kill Potter. It’s the only option he has. But the rest of them… Well, he’s sure he doesn’t want to kill them. They have shown him nothing but hospitality, except for in the very beginning when they were rightfully suspicious of him.

They don’t trust him perfectly yet, though. This will be his ultimate test of loyalty, he thinks.

Which is why, if encountered with hostile Death Eaters, he will have no choice but to engage in battle.

But, then, will they expect him to, when he has already secured his position as a double-agent?

Draco told them a breach of Hogwarts was to be expected, but he hadn’t known the date. He wonders if they didn’t tell him because they don’t trust him or because they had no real reason to.

Regardless, he’s here now, wand in hand and Potter flanking his right side.

“It’s good that we have six now,” Potter reflects. “It means we can work with safer numbers.”

“Is two really that safe, though?” Draco frowns. “It doesn’t seem like great odds to me.”

Potter shrugs. “It’s easier,” he says. “Smaller groups attract less attention. Of course, you’re stuck with me, and I’ll draw the most attention naturally, but it’s still less than if we were travelling like a pack or something, I reckon.”

“I see.” Draco glances around the tree he’s tucked in behind. “I never did field jobs or anything, so I wouldn’t know…”

“Never? Really?”

“Well, not never.” Draco pauses, thinking. “Just not ones like this, I guess.”

Potter nods, then stands up. “If nobody’s come yet, that probably means that nobody’s around.”

“Don’t they have wards around here?” Draco asks, following Potter around the winding areas between the trees.

“Well, sure, but we happen to have most of the teaching staff here on our side, not to mention the previous headmaster being the founder of the Order. We did what we had to do in order to bypass them now earlier in the week.”

Draco nods absently, stepping around some fallen tree branches.

“We have Order members that are still students,” Potter continues. “They don’t know what’s happening tonight, but if we need them, they’ll know. I hope.”

“You hope?” Draco stares at Potter’s back. “Seriously?”

“I can hardly say I _know_!” Potter retorts. “Just follow me, okay? I’ll make sure nothing happens to us while we’re here.”

Draco chokes on a lugh. “You’re rather confident, aren’t you? What makes you think I need protecting, though?”

“Your decidedly feminine form,” Potter snaps. “Now stay quiet for a little bit, will you?”

Draco rolls his eyes, but does as he’s told.

They’ve come to the edge of the forest. In front of the final line of trees, lights cascade gently over the browned grass.

“We’re going to check Hagrid’s Hut,” Potter says. “If he’s there, he’ll help us. If he’s not, we’d better hope he just forgot to turn off the lights.”

Potter waves him forward and they circle around the hut, sure to avoid being in line with the light. Once they’re on the other side, Draco glances at Potter in annoyance and says, “What difference does it make if we’re still twenty metres away?”

“Don’t be like that,” Potter says, reaching into his pocket and grabbing out a folded up cloak. “I’ll go look.”

Draco is about to scoff and ask what good a measly little cloak will do, and then Potter puts it on and… and he _disappears_.

“What the hell,” Draco mutters, and Potter simply laughs.

“Family heirloom?” he offers.

“Some kind of family heirloom _that_ is.”

Potter grins at him before flipping the hood up and, presumably, walking away towards the hut.

He comes back in a little under ten minutes and takes the cloak off again. “We’re good,” he says. “Let’s go.”

“If you had something like that, why didn’t you mention it?” Draco grumbles. “You could be doing this entire mission by yourself, I’m sure.”

“Nah,” Potter says easily. “It’ll come in handy until they realize we’re here. It’s better to have a fight and have back-up than risk getting caught on my own. Apparently.”

“Did Hermione say that?”

“And Remus, just in different words. And then Ron called me an arse. Anyway, let’s get going. We’re gonna stop quick by Hagrid’s, then we’ll make our way up to the castle.”

Draco nods, and Potter leads them to the door of the hut.

He knocks once, hand tight on his wand. _Just in case_ , Draco hopes.

The door swings open, and Draco is faced with a man’s torso. Blinking, he cranes his neck up until he can see the man’s face. He must be close to ten feet tall, Draco thinks. But despite his intimidating height, his eyes visibly soften as his gaze lands on Potter.

“What are ye doin’ here?” he hisses. “Ye can’t get into the school as it is!”

“We know,” Potter says reassuringly. “But we have no choice.”

The man frowns, but says nothing else and instead moves to let them in, closing the door quickly behind him.

“This is Hagrid,” Potter says, glancing at Draco. “He’s the groundskeeper at Hogwarts.”

Draco nods. “Well met,” he says, even though it’s not entirely true given the circumstances. “I’m Draco.”

If Potter notices that he purposefully omits his surname, he makes no comment on it.

Hagrid nods absently, but before he can speak, Potter says, “I know it’s not safe, but there’s not really another option. We have to get in and get out, preferably without being caught. Without being seen, if we can be.”

Hagrid nods again, but there is a sorrowful look in his eyes. “Ye grew up too fast, Harry.”

Potter smiles up at him. “I know,” he says. “Will you help us?”

“‘Course,” Hagrid says. “Jus’ tell me what ye need.”

~*~*~*~

Hagrid walks the path up to the castle, then comes back to give them the all-clear and walks up again, this time with Draco and Potter in tow.

“Thanks, Hagrid,” Potter whispers once they come to the entrance.

“‘Course,” Hagrid mutters. “Watch out fer Filch, o’ course…”

“We’ll make sure you know we’re alive when we come back,” Potter promises.

Hagrid nods. His eyes shimmer slightly in the dim light offered by the moon. “‘Course,” he says again. “I’ll be seeing ye, Harry.”

Hagrid hesitates a moment, then turns back around and makes his way slowly back down towards his hut.

“Let’s go,” Potter murmurs, waving Draco forward.

Draco follows him into the castle, and Potter brings them around a corner then stops. He pulls out a blank piece of parchment.

“ _I solemnly swear I am up to no good_ ,” he says under his breath, tapping the paper with his wand. The parchment comes to life with black ink, and Draco can only blink down at it.

“We get all the important things,” Potter jokes, but his face quickly turns serious again. “We have to follow this map no matter what. It’s never wrong. If we wind up split up, I’ll find you, okay?”

“I doubt anybody that would find me here would want to kill me,” Draco reminds him. “But all right. I’ll keep in mind.”

Potter nods. “Good. Then, how good are you at Disillusionment charms?”

Draco shrugs.

“I’ll take that as an okay,” Potter says. “Now, follow me.”

If there is one thing Draco is beginning to find, it is following directions. The only order he hasn’t completed in the past year… Well, that would be the one that says he must assassinate Potter by the end of May.

But Potter doesn’t trust him.

They could be friends by now, in any different universe, but in this one, Potter is a war hero and Draco is just some “defected” Death Eater.

Potter leads him up the stairs, warning him once in a while about the odd trick step. They ascend quietly but quickly, until they come to what must be the seventh floor.

“Where is this thing at, anyway?” Draco asks after a while.

“I don’t know,” Potter admits. “We thought of the Room of Requirement, but…”

“Room of Requirement?”

Potter waves his hand toward a wall behind them. “We used it to hide stuff last year,” he explains. “But I’ve no idea what You-Know-Who would do. Just that it’s in the castle _somewhere_.”

“Better to waste time and find it than go fast and miss it,” Draco says. “We should at least check.”

“It could take days,” Potter argues. “We don’t have that much time to waste.”

“What are the others doing?” Draco demands. “This is our area to search. So let’s search it.”

Potter frowns. “We should at least check everywhere else first. We don’t have time to waste in the Room.”

Draco can concede, could have, in fact, conceded from the very beginning, but…

But if this item is like the diary, then Voldemort does not want Potter to have it. And if Potter gets it while Draco is with him…

“I know what he thinks,” Draco blurts. “It wouldn’t seem obvious to anybody who didn’t know that this room exists. Maybe he was the only one when he hid it in the castle. It would make sense, wouldn’t it?”

Potter opens his mouth, then closes it again and looks down at the map.

He jerks up and turns around, and as he does so Draco recognizes Hermione and Ron appearing from the shadows.

“We just talked to the Grey Lady,” Hermione gasps. “You know, Ravenclaw’s ghost? Luna mentioned her last year, and Cho said something before, remember? Anyway… she told us in less words that we should be looking in the Room.”

“It’ll be the same form we hid the stuff for the Order in last year,” Ron offers. “Room of Hidden Things.”

Draco stares at them.

Potter glances at him. “Sorry,” he says. “Guess I was wrong. Let’s go check it out.”

The seconds seem to count down faster between Draco’s ears.

~*~*~*~

Their search lasts hours. Long, gruelling, anxiety-filled hours.

But eventually it is Hermione who calls for them, saying she’s sure she’s found it.

“Now, how do we destroy it?” Ron asks, peering over Hermione’s shoulder to see the object—a tiara of some kind, Draco thinks.

“We’ll just take it back with us,” Potter says. “I know it’s not the best, but it’s all we can do for now.”

Draco can’t even bring himself to ask. He feels sick with this, with the thought of what is surely coming for his parents now.

“Let’s go, though,” Potter continues. “Remus and Arthur should’ve gone back by now, right?”

Ron nods. “We’ll be lucky if students aren’t getting out of bed,” he says, grimacing. “Sure we’ll be able to make it out of here?”

“I’ve no idea,” Potter says, reaching for his map again. “I doubt it’s morning yet, but we’ll still have to be careful. It’s not like we were completely silent coming in.”

But, given Draco’s luck, the chances seem to insist that nobody knows they’re here.

Potter scans his eyes over the map quickly. “There’s nobody on the seventh floor,” he says. “But there are a few near the entrance… We’ll have to go by them, whether we want to or not.”

“How many?” Hermione asks.

“Three.” Potter shows her the map. “We’ll be fine.”

Hermione nods, but still chews at her lip worriedly. “You should wear your cloak,” she says. “You have to get out, if nobody else. You know that, right?”

“Don’t say that,” Potter says. “We’re all going to get out of here. Once we’re able to Apparate, we will. Don’t drop the diadem or let someone take it. We’ll be fine.”

Despite the optimistic words, Draco doesn’t miss the look in Potter’s eyes as he turns back towards the door.

But it shouldn’t matter. Potter doesn’t matter to him. Potter’s life doesn’t matter, unless he’s dead by Draco’s hand.

Even if he dies here, Draco could take the credit for it. After all, this mission still would’ve taken place with or without Draco, but it would have had a different outcome, without a doubt.

Draco follows Potter to the door, Ron and Hermione trailing behind him, and the four of them leave the room.

Potter leads them back down the stairs, careful to keep their footsteps soft and their bodies poised for any potential action.

They stop near the entrance hall, and, as Hermione asked, Potter puts his cloak on.

Hermione steps in front of him and waves them forward slightly.

The Death Eaters in question are ones Draco doesn’t recognize, likely because they’ve been at Hogwarts this entire year.

Hermione halts, then quickly and gracefully throws a stunning spell toward the one closest to her.

The other two look over in surprise, then catch sight of Hermione, who has made no move to actually hide herself.

“What are you doing here?” one of them demands, but Hermione doesn’t respond, merely twirling her wand in her hand and stepping forward slightly.

“They’re not students!” the other one says. “We could kill them.”

Draco doesn’t know where Potter is. He has no hopes of killing Potter in this mess, and even less hope of having one of these goons doing it for him.

And then both Death Eater move to sling a curse at Hermione, but she’s only looking at one of them, and Potter pushes her down, losing his hood in the process.

The second Death Eater sees it immediately, and before Potter can remove himself from Hermione, the man is pointing his wand, lips half finished the words _Avada Kedava_ , and this is Draco’s chance, but…

But while his mind shouts victory, his body springs into action, and before the curse can come close to Potter, Draco’s own stunning spell meets it halfway.

Ron comes in from the other side, disarming the second one, and Hermione and Potter scurry to their feet in order to help Draco take out the first.

Once all three are either unconscious or unable to move, the four of them break into a sprint back down to the forest.

It is only once they stop running, very near where the Apparation wards reach and end, that Draco realizes what, exactly, he’s done.

Potter looks at him with new eyes. “Thanks,” he says, and though Draco’s heart pounds with disappointment in himself, he responds with a faint, “I could hardly let my teammate die.”

He has two months, now, to kill Potter.

~*~*~*~

On the first day of April, Potter finally asks him to just call him Harry.

“It’s impersonal,” he says. “We’re on the same team, you know.”

The words make Draco’s chest ache, and he cannot conceive a proper response.

~*~*~*~

On the thirteenth day of April, Draco visits his parents again.

He tells them he’s sorry, but it doesn’t matter. They stand on the brink of death, now. It will take many, many months to get them anywhere remotely near physical health again, even if he can get them out alive by the end of May.

When he leaves, his heart stays down in the dungeons somewhere, but he has no desire to try to get it back.

~*~*~*~

On the first day of May, the majority of the Order of the Phoenix storms Gringotts.

Draco doesn’t go, but he knows what vault is their target.

Bellatrix.

He knows because she told him they would probably break into it eventually, and Draco told this to them. They hadn’t known there was anything there, Draco hadn’t known if Bellatrix was telling the truth, and Bellatrix likely hadn’t known her suspicions would reach the Order.

It’s frustrating, that he keeps helping them, even when he knows he shouldn’t.

But after what happened at Hogwarts, the way Harry has looked at him and talked to him—like an equal, a good friend, someone he _trusts_ —has been hard to ignore. He’s beginning to think it is the equivalent of too much Firewhiskey. There is something about it, being trusted so wholly by someone else, that makes it hard to act rationally.

And, of course, that only leaves one obvious explanation: He is beginning to care for Harry, and that could be all that stands between him and his parents, now.

~*~*~*~

On the seventh day of May, Draco and Harry go out to survey the area for their new safe house. Ron and Hermione have gone the other way, and Arthur and Remus are in the house, checking around to make sure there are no traces of Dark magic or human life anywhere.

Once they are far enough away, and Draco is sure he will not lose his nerve, he pulls his wand out and points it at Harry.

His hand shakes. A lot.

Harry watches him with a raised eyebrow. “What are you doing?” he asks.

“I thought that would be fairly obvious,” Draco says, but his voice is high and shaky and he can hardly take himself seriously.

“You’re pointing your wand at me,” Harry says. “I get that. I’m just wondering why, is all.”

He’s too calm. It does nothing to still Draco’s pulse.

Draco points his wand down to Harry’s hand. “ _Expelliarmus!_ ” he says, and Harry doesn’t even react, hardly moves.

“Are you going to kill me, Draco?” Harry asks softly. “Do you really think you can?”

“Of course I can,” Draco spits. “I have to!”

Harry watches him, and though his eyes hold a hint of sadness, he still doesn’t look worried.

“ _A-Avada Kedava!_ ”

Nothing happens. Panic flares in Draco’s chest.

He says the words again, stronger, with more conviction, but nothing happens.

Harry hasn’t moved. “It won’t work,” he says simply. “You have no desire to kill me.”

“Of course I do!” Draco’s voice quivers to the point it is probably difficult to understand what he is saying at all. “I told you, I have to. I have no choice!” He holds his wand tighter in his hand, even as it shakes more.

He spits out the curse again.

Harry just stands there, unharmed.

“You saved my life,” Harry reminds him.

“T-That’s because it’s worthless if I’m not the one who kills you,” Draco says. “I wouldn’t have. I just couldn’t let you die there, s-so—”

“That’s a pathetic excuse,” Potter says coldly. “I know you know that, too.”

Kill Potter, or let his parents die.

Kill Potter, or let his parents die.

Kill Potter, or let his parents die.

“ _Avada Kedava!_ ” he says again, with as much force as he can muster.

There is nothing.

“Unforgivable curses only work if you really mean it,” Harry says. “They’re just like any spell, really. But regular spells don’t kill people.” He shakes his head. “We all knew you were going to do this eventually. But I guess it’s just something about you… you’re hard not to want to trust. But you know that, right? It’s why we’re here now.”

Draco’s wand falls from his hand, hitting the ground with a muted sound.

“W-Why…?”

“You’re not a killer,” Harry reasons. “You probably couldn’t kill me even if I was a perfect stranger.”

Harry does not want to kill Voldemort, because Harry does not want to kill anybody.

“I have to,” Draco chokes out. “Just like you have to kill the Dark Lord. I…”

Harry grabs Draco’s hand and shakes his head slowly. “It’s not the only way,” he says. “There are other options, even when it feels like there are none. You just have to look for them a bit.”

“I have no time!” Draco spits. His hands still shake, but he doesn’t push Harry away. “You think I haven’t looked? There’s nothing! I have to kill you! I—I—”

“There is _always_ a choice,” Harry says, and he sounds almost angry, somehow. Wild, untamed, someone who has had a thousand choices but always would’ve wound up here, anyway.

Draco is no different, really, but he stands on the opposite side of Harry, and the longer their hands touch, the more grey bleeds blends in between them.

Because if there is anything Draco’s experiences have taught him, it’s this: some people are born bad, and those people don’t have the luxury, anymore, to be good.

Draco pulls his hand away slowly. “I’m sorry,” he says hollowly. “I don’t know… why I ever thought I could win.”

“Win _what_?” Harry asks. “There are no _winners_ in war, Draco.”

Draco’s lips twist slightly. “Not even those that survive it?” He shakes his head. “I never wanted anything more than to be alive, you know.”

“That’s rather selfish of you, don’t you think? There are things worth dying for.”

“I never said I wasn’t a coward!” His hands are shaking again, now, rolled in fists at his side. His fingernails dig painfully into the heel of his hand, but he can hardly feel it. “I’m just like my father! The same blood of countless generations of cowards runs in me! Don’t you understand? Not everybody is lucky enough to be brave!”

His words seem to echo out around them. Something indistinguishable flashes briefly in Harry’s eyes.

“Do you really think that bravery isn’t a conscious choice?” Harry’s voice is quiet, more thoughtful than demanding. “I never said you were a coward. Just that you’re selfish.”

“Is it wrong of me to wish I could live? That the people I love could live?” Draco sucks in a deep, quivering breath. “I would give anything if it meant saving my parents.”

Harry watches him, but Draco cannot read his face, doesn’t even want to try. They aren’t different, really. Draco just wound up a slave to Voldemort, working to save the only people he ever properly cared about, while Harry wound up a slave to the Order of the Phoenix, as their last chance to win a war that started before he was even born. War doesn’t end when one side loses. It chases people, haunts them, until there aren’t any more survivors. And then it simply becomes history.

Draco doesn’t want to be reduced to history before he has even learned to live.

“Do you not think we would save your parents, if given the chance?” Harry finally says. “You said yourself they no longer work for You-Know-Who. Which means they’re technically victims before they’re enemies. I don’t know about everyone else, but I don’t think people that can be saved should die.”

He doesn’t say they’re innocent, because they both know it’s not true. But it is somehow more… more _endearing_ , almost, that he believes so wholly in their redemption, in the redemption of people like _Draco_ , like Draco’s _family_ , and it is so undeniably _good_ to hear, like music to Draco’s ears. Harry is hailed as a war hero, but he never needed a war to teach him to be kind.

Draco’s throat hurts. It is the first day of May. His wand lies between them, dropped from his shaking hands, and Voldemort stands somewhere in his home, counting down the hours until he can kill Lucius and Narcissa.

His vision swims. He aches, in every way humanly possible. If there is a hell, he thinks that he may already be in it.

“Draco?” It’s Harry’s voice, but it sounds far away.

He opens his mouth to respond, but cannot find the words. There are so many to say, but he doesn’t know how to articulate them, isn’t even sure if he ever would be able to.

Harry’s hand touches his shoulder very lightly, and he snaps his head up. His eyes burn, but he can see Harry clearly.

“I don’t want to kill you,” he murmurs. “I never did. I’m… I’m not a killer.”

“I know.” Harry watches him very closely. “I feel like I know a lot about you.”

He probably does. Draco isn’t exactly a closed off person. Harry can probably see all his emotions clearly, no matter how much he would try to keep them locked away. He can keep his thoughts away from Voldemort, but…

Harry isn’t Voldemort.

“Thank you,” Draco says, voice raspy and painful, almost impossible to even hear.

But he hears. He seems to hear everything Draco says, even when he doesn’t speak the words aloud.

“I didn’t do anything,” he says, but it is a lie. Draco knows it is a lie, because there is nothing, anymore, that Harry hasn’t done for him.

~*~*~*~

Harry tells him everything. About the Horcruxes, about how they’re only missing one, now, as far as they know, and it is Voldemort’s snake.

“If we destroy these,” he says, “we win the war.”

It sounds too easy, in a way, but it isn’t, of course. They have no idea how to destroy them. A book Dumbledore had in his possession before his death highlights three ways, but they have no way to get basilisk venom, only one of the Horcruxes is actually alive and can be killed with the killing curse, and Fiendfyre… well, nobody knows much about it.

“I’m running out of time,” Draco says, and it is the seventh day of May. He does not sleep soundly at night, but, then, he hasn’t for nearly a year. Paranoia flows between his blood like a plague.

“I know,” Harry reassures. “We’re so close, Draco. Just stay with us for a few more days.”

The tables have, in some senses, turned, but maybe Draco just wasn’t looking before. All this time, he’s not sure if he was really doing the right thing. Any wrong step could’ve killed him, and now he stands here, twenty-four days closer to the day Voldemort kills him.

It hurts to breathe, sometimes, with the weight of it all on his chest.

“I can kill the snake,” he says. “She’s always with him. I—”

“No,” Harry says sharply. “That’s too risky. If nobody has to die, nobody should.”

Hermione, who sits on Harry’s left side, exchanges a glances with Ron, who sits across from her, beside Draco.

“The snake has to die eventually,” Ron says tentatively. “If Draco can do it—”

“And who says he can?” Harry demands. His voice is odd, not angry, exactly, but still far from welcoming.

It sits wrong in Draco’s chest.

“What, because I can’t kill?” he snaps, straightening and leaning forward, until he can feel the ends of Harry’s breaths brush against his cheek. “It’s a _snake_ . She’s not a _person_ , and it’s not like you’re just a person, anyway, you know!” His voice is higher than usual, to the point it is almost embarrassing. “I—I’m sure I could’ve killed you too if you weren’t so easy to care about!”

Harry laughs. It’s not as if he finds it funny, exactly, but it isn’t a sound entirely lacking in mirth, either.

“That’s not what I mean,” he says. “I mean that would be risking yours and your parents’ lives when we still don’t have a perfect method to destroy the rest of them.”

A small chill crawls over Draco’s skin. “Oh,” he says, falling back. “I— Sorry.”

“We’re all on edge,” Harry continues. “It’s best if we don’t take it out on each other.”

“I—I know that.”

“Good,” Harry says. “Then let’s figure out what we’re going to do next.”

As the topic trails away into their next plans, Draco catches Hermione and Ron exchange a glance, then both turn sympathetic eyes to him.

He resists the urge to scowl. The last thing he wants now is pity, but there’s something about him that seems to demand it.

~*~*~*~

On the ninth of May, Hermione approaches him late in the evening.

“I want you to tell me what happened,” she says. “We understand the gist, of course, but Harry seems to trust you, and I’d like to know why.”

“Implying you don’t trust me,” Draco says hollowly. “I don’t care, you know.”

“I don’t care either,” she says, shrugging. She pauses a moment, then lowers herself into the chair beside him. “But I care about my best friend’s feelings. He must trust you for a reason. He must…” She shakes her head. “I just need a reason, all right? Forgive me if I think you have malicious intent.”

“You don’t think that,” Draco mutters. “And you don’t distrust me, either.”

She tilts her head in consideration. “Maybe,” she allows. “But there’s a difference in how I trust you and how Harry does.”

“This makes no sense,” Draco says, going to stand. “Don’t waste my—”

She grabs his wrist and pulls him down so that their eyes are level again. “I trust you with _my_ life,” she says. “But I would never trust you with Harry’s.”

Draco jerks back. “Excuse me?” Something acidic seems to fill him up, from his toes up to his throat. “I understand that these circumstances aren’t great, but I think I’ve already proven that I value Harry’s life above, potentially, my _own_. Does that mean nothing to you?”

“How do we know that?” she snaps. “You both just said you didn’t kill him. We don’t know what happened that day. For all we know, you could be lying!”

He can’t deny that he has thought about it. Thought about poisoning Harry’s drinks, or taking a knife to his throat late in the night. Just because he doesn’t mean it enough to cast the Killing Curse doesn’t mean he can’t commit a murder in other ways.

Except that it does.

Because he is not a killer, no, but if he was asked… if he was asked, he knows he could kill Voldemort. He knows, because he has imagined himself doing it so many times. He could kill Bellatrix, could kill her master, for all the times they had held his parents’ lives above him and laughed as he jumped but could never reach. He wouldn’t hesitate.

He couldn’t kill Harry, even if he tossed his wand aside. He had his chance, to kill like a wizard, to turn darkness unto himself and become Voldemort’s dog for the rest of his days. His one chance, but one failed chance always breeds infinite other chances.

This chance bred a chance to stray down an arguably more malevolent path or a chance for redemption.

Draco still doesn’t know which way the sign he passed said he was going, if he’s completely honest.

It’s hard not to want to kill Harry, but it is harder to imagine actually doing it.

“I dropped my wand,” he says, and his voice seems to echo around them. “Because my hand was shaking. I told him everything I’ve told you.”

“Everything,” she echoes.

His lips twist mirthlessly. “Sans my feelings on it all, but I’m sure you’ve managed to gather those for yourself, if you’re confronting me now. Right?”

“Right,” she says, blinking. “I—I suppose I understand. I had to wipe my parents’ memories of me so that Death Eaters wouldn’t target them.”

“And Harry’s parents are already dead.” Draco raises an eyebrow at her. “So what use is it for me to complain about my situation, when there’s still a chance they can live through this all?”

“Huh? N-No, that’s not what I—”

“I know,” Draco says, pushing his chair and standing fully. She is over a half a foot shorter than he is, probably, but she still looks powerful when he is looking down on her. “It’s what I’m saying.”

He doesn’t give her the chance to respond before he leaves the room, but he knew he needed to before she realized just how badly his palms were sweating.

~*~*~*~

On the fifteenth day of March, they explain they’ve found an effective way to wield Fiendfyre.

“It’s not safe, exactly,” Remus says. “It’s dark magic of a very high degree. Arthur, myself, and a few other members of the order will do it.”

“We don’t know what will happen, exactly,” Harry says. “Given the nature of the Horcrux, it’s pretty likely he’ll know we’ve destroyed them. Possibly without knowing which ones we have destroyed.”

“How do you plan to actually kill him?” Draco asks.

Harry’s face twists oddly. “Well, we had an idea, but it…”

“Assassination,” Hermione says flatly. “We storm Malfoy Manor, and someone kills him.”

“How do you plan to get close enough to do that?”

“The plan relies on a lot of missing information. Blanks we’ve used the past year to fill in for ourselves. We took what Dumbledore made, and we built it up tenfold. If we’re right, destroying all the Horcruxes we have will have a sudden, very negative impact on You-Know-Who. Arthur and Remus’s team are set to destroy the Horcruxes some ten minutes after we’ve stormed the manor. This gives the stationed Death Eaters enough time to meet us, and those who remain by You-Know-Who’s side to be wiped out.”

“And then they destroy the Horcruxes, and your assassin goes in for the kill,” Draco finishes. “Smart. What about the snake?”

“You said it yourself, didn’t you?” She raises an eyebrow at him. “She never leaves his side. It’ll be the assassin’s duty.”

“And who’s your assassin?”

She pauses, glances at Ron.

Beside him, Draco hears the noise of something hitting the table and being pushed towards him.

He glances over. Beneath Harry’s hand is a dagger, and it sits in front of Draco, now.

“You,” Harry says. “If you’re up to it.”

Draco blinks. “Where’d you—?” He shakes his head. “Never mind. And if I’m not?”

“Then I’ll do it, although it’ll be less of an assassination and more of a conformation in that case.” He smiles wryly. “You told me, didn’t you? I have to kill him.”

Draco can’t argue with it, because he still believes it, no matter what Harry has said to him since then.

Instead, he says, “I’m not a killer.”

“I know,” Harry says, and his voice is decidedly softer. “That’s why we’re giving you an option.”

“None of us are killers, either,” Hermione reminds him coldly. “You happen to have the best in out of all of us. Not to mention, you’re already supposed to be an assassin anyway, aren’t you?”

Draco presses his lips together and looks away from her. “You don’t need to tell me that,” he mutters.

“Good,” she says. “It’s important you know your place amongst us.”

“My place?” Draco turns to face her again. “What, as if there’s some sort of hierarchy? I know you don’t trust me, but if you’re going to commission me to _kill_ for you, perhaps you ought to be a little kinder to me.”

“‘Mione,” Ron says quietly, nudging her side. “He’s right.”

Hermione sighs. “Just… Listen, we’re all out there risking our lives to kill You-Know-Who. Technically… you’ve done the opposite of helping us. That means you need to earn back our trust.”

“Implying I once had it.”

“Sure.” She shrugs. “To a degree, you still do. But regardless of what you say, I can’t shake the feeling you _still_ think the best option is to kill Harry, but for people like me, he’s our only hope. If you kill him… that’s the end for us. Maybe your parents will get to be free if You-Know-Who wins, but in return an entire class of people will never know freedom again. Most of us will probably die. You understand the severity of this war, don’t you?”

Draco has been conditioned to think of himself first. He grew up with the resources to be selfish, with good examples and with nobody to tell him anything otherwise.

But he doesn’t know if that’s what he wants anymore.

“You seemed sympathetic to my situation not too long ago,” he says mildly. “I’m sure even you understand that I’m rather lacking in choices.”

“That’s why I don’t want to trust you,” she says. “If there’s anybody here that would be capable of sacrificing the good of potentially millions of people just to save two, I’d have to say it would be you. After all, we’ve nobody to save. Not to mention we’ve all already lost more than the average person does in a lifespan from this war.”

“And I haven’t lost anything?” Draco spits. “As if I don’t understand that feeling? Sometimes I catching myself thinking my parents are as good as dead, anyway. It’s like I’ve already lost them. I lost a lot of things before this war even started again. I lost the man my father could’ve been, and I lost the childhood I could’ve had. It’s not much different from losing a person to death, if you ask me.”

“We don’t want to ostracize you,” Harry says. “I’m sorry if that’s the way it’s coming across, but these are stressful times. For everybody,” he adds. “Don’t forget the power you hold in this war, Draco.”

He says Draco’s name so softly, like a symphony Draco remembers seeing once when he was very little, so smooth and silken, calming in every way possible.

“I… I know.”

“Good.” Harry’s smile is soft, perhaps a touch sad. “Then let’s go over this plan…”

~*~*~*~

On the twentieth of May, they storm Malfoy Manor.

Draco has been at the Manor for a few days, anxiously awaiting this moment, but nothing can prepare him for what’s happening now.

Screams echo through the halls. Death Eaters upon Death Eaters are lined up throughout the manor, but they are mostly concentrated near the drawing room.

The drawing room… yes, Draco remembers hearing that that is where Voldemort would be forced to hide if the Death Eaters would ever need to take the defensive.

He makes his way there, but before the entrance to the room stands Bellatrix. She smiles wickedly at him. “What are you doing here, Draco?” she coos. “You know there are more important places to be, don’t you?”

He holds the dagger behind his back, grip tightening on it. “Move,” he says stiffly.

She cackles. “What will you do? Kill me?”

“If I have to.”

“Oh, scary! Your parents wouldn’t like you like _this_ , would they?”

He grinds his teeth together. “ _Move_.”

“Unfortunately, I can’t move for traitorous scum.” She sneers. “That’s what you are, right? A filthy traitor? You fraternize with those Mudbloods and their goody-good allies, don’t you, Draco? With Harry Potter?”

He reflects her look back to her. “If you don’t move, I’ll kill you.”

She merely laughs again. “As if you could! You’re—”

Before she can finish, however, somebody yells “ _Stupefy_!” and a jet of red hits her in the back, knocking her forward, stunned.

Remus steps over her body, looking worried. “We’ll deal with the Death Eaters here,” he says. “Just hurry.”

Draco glances at his aunt, then nods tersely and opens the door to the drawing room.

Voldemort is the only person there, Nagini at his side.

“I was hoping you would be the one to come to me,” Voldemort says, lips twitching slightly. “Draco, Draco… what a pitiful thing you have become.”

Draco can’t breathe. His heart roars in his ears.

He has two choices, it would seem:

Kill Harry…

Or kill Voldemort.

Either his parents will die, or Harry will die. Harry, who has the power to save the world, who has always been hailed a saviour. Harry, who suffered, who lost his childhood, to this war…

Save his parents?

Or save Harry?

If those are his choices…

If those are his choices, he himself will die either way.

He will die, because…

His parents have always been his life—his past, his present, the future he had once hoped for—but Harry… What is Harry to him? A friend? Someone he cares for? The leader of a war he has always opposed to some degree?

No, Harry is…

The only future he can see anymore.

Is he relying on Harry? Has he been this entire time? Draco doesn’t always know anymore. He had never meant to befriend Harry. Had never meant to trust him, or care for him, to want to protect him. What is this feeling, exactly? It is the same thing he held for his parents, that same burning _need_ that drives people to destroy.

To destroy…

That same burning need that drives people to _kill_.

“You’re disgusting,” Draco hisses. “You don’t understand anything about humanity. How could you expect your followers to remain loyal when you threaten them?”

“Is there really any better way?” Voldemort asked. “Draco, Draco, you truly are something else… I was certain, at least, that once you came here, you might see the error of your ways. I would have forgiven you, Draco. I would’ve, if not for this.” He sneers. “Your impudence exhausts me. Either you will be loyal, or you will die at my hands.” He raises his wand, but before he can open his mouth again, a large tremor passes through his body, and an unholy scream tears through the air.

Nagini hisses and slithers in front of her master, poised to strike out at Draco. But Draco hasn’t done anything: this reaction has to be from the Horcruxes.

He steps forward, nonetheless, and Nagini strikes. But he is moving before she is, and the knife cuts through her, but does nothing more than spurt blood back at him.

Thinking fast, he kicks at her, but her teeth sink into his shoe before he can move his foot back again.

Heart pounding— _she’s venomous_ , he thinks—he drops his hold on the knife and pulls out his wand, quickly casting a Stunning Spell.

She releases her grip, and Draco can only pray there is no way her venom got beneath his skin, but his shoes are thin, and his feet have been numb all this time….

Voldemort staggers to his feet.

“How dare you?” he hisses, pulling his wand out. Draco’s breaths come fast, anxious. _He is going to die here, he is going to die here, he is going to die here_ —

“ _Avada Kedava_!”

At the same time Voldemort screams the curse, somebody pushes Draco out of the way, yelling out “ _Expelliarmus_!”

Draco looks up, dazed. Harry has taken up Draco’s place.

How did he get here? How did he know Draco would need him now?

But as his head spins, he notices Nagini moving closer to Harry, despite the wound she has sustained. She winds up on herself. He can’t do anything about it, as he duels with Voldemort.

Is this Voldemort’s plan? Has this been his plan all along?

Ah, but it couldn’t be, could it?

Voldemort does not understand humanity. Does not understand human desperation, that burning _need_.

To protect.

To _kill_ to protect.

Draco grabs his wand again and points it at Nagini. The words “ _Avada Kedava_!” are out of his mouth before he can register them.

He thinks vaguely of his previous attempts at performing the Killing Curse, that complete, utter failure. But what had he had then? A thought? Something… something….

He thought he had to do it, then, but the difference now is this:

He does not think he has to do this. He knows he does, or else Voldemort can never die, or else Harry will fall at Nagini’s venomous fangs.

She _shrieks_ as the curse hits her. It is a sound Draco would never expect to hear come from a snake. She thrashes, a dark energy seeming to exude from her.

Draco barely sees it. His breathing feels laboured. A sharp pain shoots up his leg that he can’t just attribute to being shoved on the ground.

His eyes flutter closed against his will, the sounds of a duel taking place above him fading quickly. Did Nagini infect him with her venom? He doesn’t know… perhaps she did, but this is a quick reaction, isn’t it?

His leg hurts. A force much like sleep but stronger overtakes him.

The last thing he sees before his vision leaves him is Harry, fierce and burning, dueling Voldemort.

~*~*~*~

When Draco wakes up, he thinks he must be dreaming.

His head pounds, but it is quiet. So very quiet. And… this bed is his, he thinks. His bed, the one in the room he grew up in, in the house he grew up in. How he wishes he could be that young again…

“Oh, you’re awake.”

He blinks and glances to the side. The person there is Hermione.

She says, “I’m glad I got to be the first person here. I want you to know I’m sorry.”

“Sorry for what?” he asks, but his voice is raspy and tired.

“Sorry I doubted you,” she says, standing up. “I’ll go get the others and some water for you. Don’t worry… it’s only been a few hours.”

A few hours… So perhaps it was Nagini, then? He doesn’t know if he cares. Clearly he’s alive….

His mouth is very dry, though, and his entire right leg sears. He’s sure they’ve removed any venom, but he supposes the pain will take longer to go away. He wonders if he could stand on it.

Are his parents still here somewhere? Is Harry? He doesn’t know, but if they are, he needs to find them.

He sucks in a deep breath, steeling himself, but before he can get out of bed, the door opens again, and Harry steps in.

“Hey,” he says. “Good to see you’re awake.”

Draco stares at him. “You’re alive,” he breathes.

“‘Course.” Harry offers him a tiny smile. “You missed it all, didn’t you? It didn’t last much longer after you killed Nagini.”

“Is he dead?”

“Yeah.” Harry came over and sat on the foot of his bed with a heavy sigh. “Rebounded curse… He killed him, essentially.”

Draco’s throat feels very tight. “And everyone else?”

“Aurors are currently scouting the area for any other Death Eaters, but quite a few of them got away. Dunno if any of them died, but we lost a few Order members…”

Draco nods mournfully. “Anyone I would know.”

“Nymphadora Tonks?” Harry offers. “You guys would be related, I think.”

“Oh…” Draco frowns. “I didn’t know her, but I knew about her. She was my cousin.”

“Yeah…” Harry’s shoulders are rounded, as if he is trying to keep from relaxing, as if he _cannot_ relax.

Draco leans forward and presses a hand against his arm gently.

Harry turns to look at him, and there is no doubt that this is a person who has been broken by war, broken by life, broken, broken, broken….

“It’s not your fault,” Draco murmurs.

Harry glances up at the ceiling, lips twitching. Draco could not explain the deep sadness that overwhelms Harry’s eyes if he tried. There are no words to define something so…

“I’m still figuring it out,” Harry says quietly, and even his voice is broken.

The leaders war breeds are fated to break. It has always been this way, Draco thinks. Voldemort broke, too, after all, long before Draco was even born.

Death is still death, even when the body continues to breathe.

Harry takes in a deep breath, then smiles thinly at him. “But it’s not about who died, is it? It’s about who lived. They all believed in this future, and even if they aren’t here to witness it anymore…”

“At least there are people who will,” Draco finishes. “I’m sure that’s all they care about.”

“Yeah… but there was something else I wanted to talk to you about, you know…”

“What?”

“Your parents,” Harry says quietly. “We had them both sent to St. Mungo’s. They’re… not healthy, but they’re alive.”

_Death is still death is still…_

Draco forces a smile. “Y-Yeah, that’s good. I’m glad.”

“Should I leave you for a while?”

Draco closes his eyes tightly. Everything is happening so fast. There’s no room to really think.

He opens his eyes and meets Harry’s troubled ones.

He says, “Please don’t.”

Harry doesn’t.

~*~*~*~

The next day, they go to St. Mungo’s together.

Despite Harry’s warnings, nothing could prepare him for just how frail both his parents look.

The war is over, but the ghosts of it still linger in their eyes. They linger in Harry’s, too. Perhaps they are in Draco’s as well, but he doesn’t want to see them if they are. He does want to see the war anymore.

“I’m so sorry,” he tells his parents, but they both shake their heads.

“We’re just glad you’re alive,” they say, and it is somehow a more bitter taste than knowing he’s the reason they’ve wound up like this.

They have all sustained _something_. Draco’s leg only has 50-percent functionality. When he closes his eyes, he still sees the damned snake, and the flash of green he created to kill her.

_Death is still death is still…_

But his parents are more alive, simply because Draco’s body continues to breathe. Draco is more alive, because he didn’t have to see Harry die, because his parents are recovering from this all. What is death, really?

A lack of living, he thinks, but perhaps he has lived a little too much.

No, he thinks that perhaps death is a lack of reason. A lack of direction, maybe, a lack of love or a lack of terror or a lack of the wild, burning need to _protect_.

Draco spends the day with his parents and Harry. There is something tender that he never had before blossoming in his chest.

He decides he will call this feeling “gratitude.” Gratitude, because at least he gets to have this.

When Draco leave St. Mungo’s at the end of the day, he can say with confidence that he is alive.

**Author's Note:**

> comments and kudos are always appreciated! xx


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